


There's Not Much to It

by CeciliaDuncan



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeciliaDuncan/pseuds/CeciliaDuncan
Summary: Just a little accidental fondling during conversation.





	There's Not Much to It

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry about this, but it completely distracted me from writing "Stranger to Stranger".

Paul and Art were seated next to each other. Among the many friends they were with during this evening out, somehow they ended up sitting next to each other. Not that they were talking. No, they were both talking to the people sitting on the other side, blatantly ignoring each other. It was nothing new, and their friends, especially their shared friends, were wise enough not to meddle in their friendship, nor ask questions. They would even go as far as defending them, telling the outside world that both were straight and dating. Not each other, but women. Neither did it really matter; both Paul and Art had their own way of going about things, especially that friendship. When you become friends with Simon and/or Garfunkel, that’sone thing you were going to have to accept about them. Only maybe if you innocently asked them to sing a song together, they might comply. Every other case, depending on their mood, the status of their friendship and overall situation, you might get slammed or just ignored.

In this particular case fate sat them together, their friends converging around them ignoring the fact they were sitting pretty much side to side. As the evening wore on, more and more alcohol was consumed and the conversations were getting decidedly slurry and silly, as were the people around the table. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was this simmering lust, or maybe it was something deeper, but at some point Art’s hand landed on the bulge of Paul’s jeans and rested there for a few seconds. Art glimpsed over his shoulder to see Paul’s reaction who gave an unimpressed look back before returning to his conversation. He didn’t remove Art’s hand, nor did he say anything about it. Maybe that glare meant to move Art into withdrawing, it was not what Art did. Instead he applied some pressure, moved his hand a bit like a massage. In the meantime he also turned back to his conversation members. If they knew, they didn’t let on. Maybe he got a little more silent, because most of his attention was now on Paul’s crotch keeping a close check on his progress.

Art expected Paul to bat his hand away at some point, at least when tensions were proving too hard to cover up any longer. It didn’t happen. As the bulge increased in firmness and the batting didn’t happen, Art took another curious glimpse to his right. Paul had somewhat retreated out of the conversation, leaning his chin on his fists hiding the state he was slowly slipping into. Art couldn’t help a grin when he saw and it was barely visible Paul shot him a dirty look for nearly giving them away. Or was the game up? On the other side of the table a pair of eyes were fixed on them. Paul stared across the table from under his brow, Art’s face fell a little when he spotted the spy as well. He paused his movements only briefly, then resumed when he realized who caught them in the act; shared friend Chuck Grodin, the sneaking bastard. Chuck shook his head, a grin playing around his lips. That was all right, Chuck wasn’t going to ruin their little game. Art shot him a grin back and then turned his attention to his drunken companions. Paul’s face sunk a little deeper into his fists as his breaths got faster and shorter.

Art figured he would get better control and a finer result if he could feel the progress of his fondling better, so he find the zipper and pulled it down, then fingered the button out of the hole for better access and he was still not stopped. He slid his hand in Paul’s underwear following the damp heat. He was quickly met with an already leaking head and then the firm body beneath it already pounding and thrusting a little. Art wrapped his long fingers around the shaft squeezing just so, exactly the way Paul liked it, his thumb stroking over the head wiping the moist away. He could feel Paul’s hips jerk a little and imagined Paul hiding his head in his palms keeping his gasps from view. Art kept a steady rhythm, determined to finish the job, no matter what. He could literally feel Paul’s orgasm arriving, pushing up and out covering Art’s hand and the inside of Paul’s underpants with wet confirmation. Art wondered how much effort it took Paul to control his thrusting, or hide it under the table, restrict it to his lower body. When Paul’s movements calmed and his erection disappeared, Art pulled his hand from Paul’s pants, grabbed a napkin and cleaned his hand of. Paul was still hiding his head in his fists, his dark eyes partly content, partly accusing, staring at Art. Art was biting his bottom lip trying to hide his victorious grin.

Paul’s fists finally fell away when a body pushed between Paul and Art dumping a pile of napkins on the table in fron of them. Both looked up to see Chuck’s smirking face. That was all right, Chuck didn’t ruin their little game.


End file.
